Aren't you glad?
by LoyalNerdWP
Summary: Sherlock notices that the flat is completely void of milk. He decides to tell John.


The day that this story happens upon was a nice one. Sherlock could probably say the opposite, but that was because Lestrade had forced him to come into the station to work out a case that was around a three, no more than a four at the most. He'd been reading up on an experiment he'd like to conduct (and later would) on his laptop in the flat when he realized that they were out of milk. This was, of course, completely catastrophic. Sherlock decided to text John and ask him to get some.

'_John, could you pick up some milk? -SH'_ and his phone sent the message with a satisfying 'whoosh'.

*Beep, beep.*

'_Again? Why can't __**you**__ go? -JW'_

Sherlock frowned.

'_Because, you're already out and I'm here at home. -SH'_

*Whoosh.*

*Beep, beep.*

'…_Sherlock, I've been in my bedroom for half an hour now, did you not hear me come in? -JW'_

Sherlock is puzzled. He looks around the flat, as if expecting to see images of John earlier walking up the stairs into the living room.

'_You came back? No, I didn't hear a thing. -SH'_

*Whoosh.*

*Beep, beep.*

'_Yeah, I came in, made a cup of tea, then went upstairs to check my blog hits. I simply assumed you were asleep. -JW'_

At this hour?

'_I'm on the couch, and I was then. Didn't you see me? -SH'_

*Whoosh.*

*Beep, beep*

'_Why didn't you say anything? -JW'_

'_I told you, I didn't hear you come in. And I was reading. -SH'_

*Whoosh.*

*Beep, beep.*

'_Well, apparently when you're sitting still you blend into the furniture a bit. Whatever you were reading must have been fascinating, considering you didn't notice me in the kitchen. -JW'_

'_It was the study of the effects of refrigeration on saliva production after death. Either way, could you __**please**__ get some milk? -SH'_

_*_Whoosh.*

Sherlock remembered something else.

'_And jam, we need more jam.'_

*Whoosh.*

*Beep, beep.*

'_Sherlock, it's eleven at night, it's freezing out, and I'm already in my pyjamas. Do you __**really**__ need milk this instant? -JW'_

Sherlock has grown tired of texting John. While he prefers texts to phone calls, if he has the chance to talk to someone in person it's better. You can't put emotion into a text. He sets his phone down on the couch, quickly heads up the stairs to John's room, and opens the door immediately.

"Milk," he says, somewhat aggressively.

"Sherlock, I am _really_ not in the mood to argue with you about the milk," John says, sighing, "and thank you so much for knocking."

"I sense a hint of sarcasm in your voice," Sherlock points out. John seems upset. "What's wrong with you?"

"Good, very good - detecting sarcasm. That's an improvement." John sets his laptop aside, and shrugs. "To make a long story short, I've just had yet another spectacular relationship failure."

"Which one was it, the librarian? Wait, no, wasn't that last month…?" Sherlock wonders. "Anyhow, what happened?" He sits down on the bed next to John.

"The librarian was two girlfriends ago, thank you for the reminder." John is caught a bit off-guard with Sherlock's interest, as normally he would've made a joke and been on his way by now. "Well, the same thing that always happens, pretty much. She starts talking about something, and I, uh, zone out completely. Then, the next thing I know, I'm being told that I'm, 'emotionally unavailable'. Her words, not mine."

Sherlock is really trying to keep himself from laughing. He sneaks a look at John face, hoping to catch his eye, and that he'll smile so that they can laugh about it together. Sherlock, instead, finds that John looks genuinely upset, so he coughs a few times and says, "That's…well, maybe you can start listening more? Or, have more caffeine to boost your attention span?"

"That's just what I need, more caffeine - would you like me to develop a nervous tic? No, no, don't answer that. And as for listening more… well, it would be really helpful if any of them had anything interesting to say," John chuckles, bitterly. "To be perfectly honest, I think all hopes of an actual healthy relationship is pretty much out of the question. And the annoying part is that I don't think I care as much as I should."

"Maybe you're just looking at the wrong people. While the attractive ones are nice, I'm sure, they think they can get away in life often enough while being…well, while being like _Anderson,_" Sherlock laughs.

"Maybe so. But then when I find someone who isn't quite as dumb, I'm even worse," John tells him. "They want deep, meaningful conversation. Future plans, and life goals, and deepest, darkest secrets, and all that. One wanted a complete family history."

Sherlock laughs again. "You know, I have to honestly say, that would probably be how it would go if I were to date."

John can't help but laugh at the idea. "Speed dating. You should give that a try sometime. Might find your soulmate by asking if anyone in her family has a history of psychiatric illness."

Sherlock and John laugh, extremely amused at the idea.

"Oh, I can see it," Sherlock says, chuckling, "'Does anyone in your family have a history of sociopathic or psychological behaviour?'"

The question only makes John laugh harder. "How much time would you have? Me and Harry alone could take days."

Sherlock is laughing even harder now as well. "Oh god, that would be more of a wreck for them than I, I suppose. Being shot down by me. I mean, look at these cheekbones!"

John's ribcage almost hurts from laughing. "And oh, god. Imagine bringing someone home to meet Mycroft! God, that makes Harry seem like heaven."

Sherlock now is laughing in between gasping for breath. "Can you imagine," Sherlock laughs, and then inhales, "him just sitting there on the couch and poking at them with his umbrella?"

John wipes tears from the corners of his eyes. "That's assuming he involved you at all. He'd just as soon kidnap whoever you were dating and hook them to a polygraph machine." Sherlock is laughing so much that's completely silent, shaking, and he has tears starting to run down his cheeks. It's been such a long, long time since he'd laughed like this. He slowly falls onto one of John's pillows, finally regaining enough breath to laugh aloud again.

"This makes me feel a bit better about that old girlfriend of mine, though. Harry threw up on her shoes at Christmas, and I'd _still_ rather contend with that than your brother," John says, holding his newly aching side.

"Oh yes, he's a total nuisance, absolutely horrible."

"I would almost pay money to see you speed date," John says, "and experiment of my own. You'd either end up with a glass of wine to the face, or, well… going home with whoever happens to be the most insane _and_ attractive person in the room." John shakes his head and laughs again at the thought.

"Well, now, they'd have to be at _least_ fifty IQ points smarter than Anderson… otherwise their stupidity could fill the room and constrict my breath," Sherlock debates.

"Right there you've eliminated at least half of London alone."

Sherlock thinks. "Let's see, what else could we eliminate? They'd have to be attractive, smart, hopefully only _partially_ insane, it seems safer. Not related to me, of course."

John adds, "willing to be very lenient as far as scheduling, considering your unique career path."

"Yes, so flexible with time as well. They'd have to be willing to go and get the milk," Sherlock jokes.

"And they'd have to be not at all surprised to find human body parts in the fridge when returning with the milk."

Sherlock laughs again. "Could you possibly think of someone in London like that?"

John's laughter tapers off as he comes to a realization. "Just the one," he says.

Sherlock is confused. "Who would that be?"

"Well, considering the list you just made and the previous criteria involving your brother, apparently I'm the only suitable match for you in the entire city," John says, and he's laughing all over again. Sherlock laughs as well, though as he begins to think this through, it becomes less authentic.

John, however, is laughing almost too hard to form a sentence now. "And think about it," he says, slightly breathless, "all those things I was just complaining about? The mindless chatter, the… weird questions about my psychological problems. You already know all that about me. And you've never once told me that I'm 'emotionally unavailable." His lungs burn with hilarity.

Sherlock chuckles a bit, but he's really thinking now. Honestly, who's the only person he's _really_ gotten along with these past few months?

John.

Who does Sherlock already know everything about, as he just stated?

John.

And who, in this moment of realization, is not too unattractive?

John…

John takes a few deep breaths. "Oh god. Don't tell me you're actually considering speed dating."

Sherlock laughs, "oh, no, of course not. I'd scare everyone off." He smiles, and laughs again, pushing the idea of "John" out of his head.

"Please," John says, rolling his eyes, "everyone knows you by now from the blog. I'm pretty sure all you'd need to do, really, is walk into any bar near closing time, and turn up your coat collar. Because, yes, it makes you look cool. Then, just rely on your cheekbones to do the rest."

"I'm sure they wouldn't recognize me without the hat. Why is it _always the hat?_"

"Believe me, they'd recognize you." John thinks immediately afterward that this seems a little strange.

Sherlock looks over at John. "How often really, do you blog about me?"

"Well, you've seen the case write-ups. Critiqued more than a few of them.

"Yes, I suppose." Sherlock smiles again at John. "I should… let you get to bed."

"You've got that look again." John utters, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side.

"Look? What look?"

"Not the, 'we both know what's going on here look', but the, 'I've got something on my mind but haven't quite figured out how to solve it yet look'."

_When did he start cataloguing my looks?_ Sherlock wonders.

"I don't… no, not thinking about anything, really."

John doesn't really want Sherlock to leave, but he isn't quite sure how to come about telling him. "You asked me about how often I blog about you. I don't really talk about things that aren't case related, not since the solar system. I don't really like to… not sure why."

Sherlock frowns at the mention of the solar system. _Really,_ it _isn't _that important. "I guess… some things just stay between friends?"

"Yeah, I presume," John mutters, "I mean, I still write about everything else, but the entries are private. I actually can't believe that you haven't rifled through my laptop and figured that out by now. Of course, now I'm sure you'll get right on that soon enough."

Sherlock grins. "Yeah, I never really thought about that. How strange… yes, I'll be sure to get on it."

John is slowly but surely coming to a rather bizarre realization, and he considers in silence whether to go down that particular road.

"It's funny," he mentions, "well, not 'funny', I guess, but strange. Do you know why I'm always told I'm emotionally unavailable?"

"Why?"

He opens his mouth, and stops short, shaking his head. "Nevermind, it's not important."

"No, please," Sherlock interrupts a little too quickly, "I'm… interested. Go on."

John starts again. "Every woman I date seems to think I'm already in a relationship," he mutters, not looking Sherlock in the eye as the words leave his mouth.

"With…with me?" Sherlock involuntarily blushes, not even yet knowing the answer.

"Back at Christmas, you know, I believe Jeanette's exact words were that you're a 'very lucky man'."

Sherlock lets out a small breath, thinking back.

"I, well I am. I couldn't ask for a better flat-mate… or friend." And he thinks somewhere deep in his head, _Or possibly, more?_

"And she isn't the first to point it out. When Sarah and I broke up, she said she couldn't compete with you, and didn't think she could come between us even if she wanted to try. And then there are the dozens of times I've ditched a date to answer a 'we have a crime-scene' text from you… and only to realize that I much prefer the crime-scene… and you." John is now blushing as well, feeling stupid and vulnerable for a moment. _This is Sherlock_, he tells himself, _I should've stopped minutes ago._

Sherlock replies feeling kind of guilty, "I wish that I could say the same."

John's cheeks flood and he feels briefly disappointed.

"But then… I guess I don't have to."

"How do you mean?" Asks John.

"Well, the only time I socially interact is with you, Lestrade, Mycroft, or Mrs. Hudson. And, well, 95 percent of the time, it's you. And I guess there could be… 'hidden' reasons that every time someone mentions that we're… 'together'… that I don't necessarily… deny it."

John takes the words in, not sure if he heard correctly."Err… hidden reasons?"

"I'm not entirely sure." Sherlock wishes now that he could just get out with it, whatever 'it' might be, but he's far too nervous. He also wishes at the same time that he could walk away, pretend this wasn't happening, but that definitely isn't an option anymore.

"I can count on one hand the number of times I've ever heard you say, 'I don't know' or any variant of it, and that's making this slightly distressing." He realizes that this conversation isn't exactly joking anymore, and he's equal parts terrified and interested.

"I guess I'm sort of realizing aloud now that I may have… certain feelings… for you." Sherlock suddenly feels terrified, and he wants to scream, jump, and kick the walls, and curl into a ball of shame all at once.

John stares at him, absorbing this new information, trying to figure out what to do with it. Part of him is perplexed - his feelings for Sherlock have always been different, somehow. And now, Sherlock has made things that much more bewildering. "Oh."

Sherlock looks at the ceiling, silent, and then he gets up and begins pacing. Pacing has always made him feel calmer. John clears his throat. He doesn't know if he's about to improve the situation or make it that much worse.

"Does it help if I tell you that whatever… certain feelings you have… you may not be the only one?"

Sherlock stops in his tracks, facing the window, and smiles to some extent. "That would help… exponentially so." John takes a shaky breath. He's been more than happy to be Sherlock's friend, flat-mate, and yes, blogger. But he's always tried to ignore the obvious, because, as far as he was concerned, Sherlock wasn't interested in that sort of thing. But now, he knows better.

"Right then. Err, I don't really know how this goes, but. I'm interested in you. Probably have been for a while. It's new and different than anything I'm used to but, uh, it's there." Sherlock turns back toward John, who's still laying on his bed. He decides what he's about to do isn't the best idea.

It really isn't a good idea at all.

In fact, it's probably a bad idea.

Scratch that, it's a terrible idea. But he takes three large steps to the edge of the bed, puts his hand behind John's head, and kisses him.

John's heart skips a beat at the sudden sensation of Sherlock's lips on his. His brain goes from "what's happening?" to "Holy Shit" to "Oh god, yes" in a matter of seconds, and after a moment of hesitation, he kisses Sherlock back.

Sherlock returns to his seat on the bed, smiling with John's response, and furthers the kiss. John pulls Sherlock closer, and deepens the kiss, but gently so as not to overwhelm either of them. He brings a hand to Sherlock's cheek - those damned cheekbones - and takes in the feel of the other man's lips. Softer than he expected, and brilliantly warm.

Sherlock realizes just how long he's been waiting for this. He'd been keeping the idea of having feelings for John deep and forgotten, but he is ever so glad he decided to come and talk to John this evening. He strokes John's neck and places his other hand on his waist.

John's kissed plenty of other people, but he can't remember ever feeling quite like this. But then, he realizes that none of them were as dear to him as Sherlock in the first place. He breaks the kiss with a shaky, uneven breath, and rests his forehead against Sherlock's. "Okay, yeah, so. Definitely feelings."

"I deduced." Sherlock beams and winks.

John chuckles. "And to think I started the evening alone and miserable."

"Aren't you so glad I had a dire need for milk?"

"For once, yes," John admits. He pulls Sherlock back to him, and draws him in for another kiss, but pauses. "I'll not be poked by anyone's damned umbrella."

"We don't need to tell him for now," Sherlock whispers as he laughs, and closes the distance between his lips and John's.


End file.
